


what do you want from a devil like me?

by Ejunkiet



Series: scattered reflections [1]
Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: Empathic mind-sharing, F/M, Late night visitors and uninvited (but not unwanted) guests, Mild Sexual Content, UST and resolved UST, romantic trysts in the twilight, what happens when you let me run free with the lore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:07:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25248922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ejunkiet/pseuds/Ejunkiet
Summary: The leader of the maa-alused has made a habit of appearing in her bedroom uninvited.--His hand raises to trace her features, the arch of her nose, the curve of her cheek, the golden halo of his irises glimmering as they follow the movement.“I find myself fascinated with you.”
Relationships: Detective/Falk (The Wayhaven Chronicles), Falk/Female Detective
Series: scattered reflections [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1875034
Comments: 21
Kudos: 76





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Wayhaven Chronicles Week on tumblr (2020) and dedicated to the other Detective/Falk authors on ao3 <3
> 
> [bonus: art of this series!](https://ejunkiet.tumblr.com/post/633785224381267968/this-was-a-bday-gift-commission-of-my-detective)

The leader of the maa-alused has made a habit of appearing in her bedroom uninvited.

She’s come to expect it from him, for better or for worse, and plan accordingly.

(and if she’s harbouring a secret hope that tonight he’ll make an appearance - well. no one else has to know.)

\--

It’s a little after sunset when he comes again, the early summer light failing with the lateness of the hour into dusky blues and greens that lengthen the shadows inside of her apartment. 

She’s in the kitchen, halfway through her preparations for dinner when she hears the telltale ripple from her bedroom mirror, accompanied by the soft jingle of the charms she had attached to the frame.

There’s a soft thump as the blanket drops to the floor, and she turns around to see him bend down to grasp it, fingers delicate as he lifts the woolen material.

“Interesting choice, if ineffectual as an actual defence.” His eyes gleam with amusement, although it fades as he takes a step towards her, his gaze sharpening as he holds her gaze. “Or was this meant as a message?”

She raises a brow, drying her hands on a nearby dishcloth before she turns to face him fully. “Neither.”

“I see.” He doesn’t say anything else after that, or makes any more motion to leave the gentle shadows of her bedroom and she lets out a low sigh, dropping the dishcloth on the counter. She turns to switch off the stove before she moves towards him. 

His eyes are gleaming pinpricks of light in the darkness as they follow her progress through the apartment, and she can’t see well enough in the half-light to read his expression.

“It was a precaution, to preserve my modesty. You understand of course.” 

She pauses at the threshold of the room, waiting as her eyes adjust to the falling dark, a smile growing on her lips even as her heart rate kicks up in her chest. 

Her voice is light as she adds, “You never know who could be watching.”

(There’s a subtle thrill that rises within her as she says it, a part of her that revels in the idea that she is playing with fire - but it’s not as if he’s been subtle with his advances, either.)

He takes a step forward further towards the light, a slow smile curving his lips as he replies, “Indeed.”

His voice is pitched low, sending a small shiver down her spine as she watches him approach, and - she hadn’t expected him this soon, but she had hoped.

“Is there something I can help you with, Falk?” 

“I wanted to continue our conversation from earlier.” He holds her gaze, irises glittering in the refracted light that comes from the kitchen behind her. “If you would allow it.”

He means the exchange at the carnival, where the lingering presence of Agent du Mortain had precluded any possibility of further discussion - but still, she hesitates, wanting to be sure.

“If you have more questions for the agency…”

His eyes flash burnt umber, a low growl erupting from his chest, and he takes another step forward, bringing him to the edge of the halo of light. “This has nothing to do with the agency.”

He’s close enough to her now that she can almost feel the heat of him against her skin, and she shivers at the thought of it, at the idea of closing the distance between them. His eyes track the movement, and she burns under the intensity of his stare.

_ “Emma.” _

His patience seems to have run out, and he reaches forward, palm upward, his dark nails glinting in the light.

“Will you come to me?”

After another moment’s hesitation, she puts her hand in his.


	2. all fire in the belly (but no sense)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She wants to touch him, the same way he’s touched her.
> 
> \--
> 
> _He tastes like cinnamon and cloves, cloying and sweet, almost numbing. He kisses her like he’s consuming her, a low growl reverberating from his chest and into hers; he chases and she yields, lips parting, a willing surrender._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note the change of rating for this chapter. Enjoy the ride ;D**
> 
> chapter title from "baddies" by Lanterns on the lake (which also fits this chapter well).
> 
> See the end notes for translations not made clear in the text... and many apologies for any translation errors, I did my best.

It had taken two supernatural home invasions for Emma to make the decision to clean up her apartment, finally unpacking the last of the boxes from her move two years ago and tidying away the mess that had accumulated over the years.

She hadn’t realised how many square feet she had hidden beneath all that junk, or even that she had _wooden floors,_ the boards dusty but otherwise in good condition. It's a blessing, she realises. She finally lays out the colourful tassel rugs she’d inherited from her great aunt that had passed last year, mementos of a life well spent travelling the world.

Most of the members of Unit Bravo had kept quiet about the change - aside from Farah, of course, who couldn’t hold back a smart comment if her life _depended_ on it - and none of them had mentioned the fact that she’d covered up nearly every reflective surface in the apartment.

She appreciated their restraint.

In recent weeks, she'd found herself aggravatingly aware of her proximity to any reflective surface that could fit a grown man and it had become a habit, a precaution she’d taken after repeated late night visits.

That is until the incident at the agency facility, when she’d realised that the measures she’d taken made little difference after all. 

She’d taken most of the blankets down again after the rescue mission - all aside from the long mirror in her bedroom, which had been moved to the far corner of her room and covered with a blanket at night.

(Just in case.)

\--

His palm is smooth underneath her hand, cool to the touch. She's not sure what she was expecting - the last time, his touch had burned her, a burning-freezing fire that had singed her nerves, made her feel as if her veins were molten iron. 

This time, it’s not much different - except there's an entirely different source for the heat that simmers in her veins, hot and molten in the well of her stomach.

His grip is gentle as his fingers close around hers, tugging her across the threshold, his eyes on hers steady in their intensity, watchful - reminding her that she has a choice, that she's making it. 

He draws her across the room with him until they're standing near the window, the pale light of the rising moon gleaming on his skin, and then he draws her even closer, until she can feel the brush of his breath against her cheek.

His hand raises to trace her features, the arch of her nose, gentle against the curve of her cheek, and the golden halo of his irises glimmer as they follow the movement.

“I find myself fascinated with you.”

He pauses, a flicker of consternation crossing his expression before he exhales, another soft rush of air against her skin, short and edged with frustration as he draws his hand back. 

“But I cannot read you. This is -” he stops, struggling for a moment to find the words. “ _kurat_. It’s unclear whether you feel the same.”

He’s still close enough that she can feel the soft brush of cool silk against the tops of her thighs, inches of skin left bare by her sleeping shorts and shirt. He’s waiting, she realises with a growing heat, for her to make her intentions clear.

What _does_ she want?

She wants - to chase this. She doesn’t want to think about it. 

Too many of her nights have been spent alone, haunted by the memories of her past mistakes, of the times she'd found herself trapped by people and situations she had no choice in - be it willful ignorance, in her last, broken relationship with Bobby, or as a consequence of the choices of others, such as Ava du Mortain’s decision to keep her in the dark, or her mother’s choice to keep her life with the Agency hidden away.

But this - this she can control; can _choose_ for herself.

She wants to touch him, the same way he’s touched her.

She raises a hand, hesitant at first as she reaches towards him, then bolder when he doesn't move to stop her, placing it against his chest, over his heart. She trails the other along his shoulders, along the long slope of his neck, the silver strands of his hair soft against her wrist as she traces the line of his jaw.

He hums under her touch, his gaze shadowed, hooded, and he reaches out to her again.

His hands find the curve of her waist, drawing her to him, up, and she closes the distance between them, bringing their mouths together.

He tastes like cinnamon and cloves, cloying and sweet, almost numbing. He kisses her like he’s consuming her, a low growl reverberating from his chest and into hers; he chases and she yields, lips parting, a willing surrender.

He licks into her mouth, and she can’t help the way she presses into him, fingers curling into the front of his coat, nails catching at the embroidered thread as his hands slip beneath her shirt, his touch cool against her skin but rapidly warming.

She finds the fastenings to his coat and she can feel his huff of amusement as she makes short work of them, pushing at the material until it slides off his shoulders, pressing her lips to the curve of his jaw, his throat, mouthing at his clavicle above the wide collar of his shirt. 

He shudders beneath her touch, a hand reaching up to clutch at her hair, twisting within the strands before he drags her up, mouth crushing against hers in another kiss that leaves her breathless.

" _Ma tahan sind_ ," he murmurs against her mouth, and she can feel the sharp points of his teeth, the prick of his nails against her hip. " _Emma.”_

She shudders at the sound of her name, bites at his lips as she murmurs back, “I want you, too.”

Another low growl reverberates through his chest, before he breaks the contact, pulling away from her. She can’t help the small noise of protest that escapes her as he does, and he doesn’t miss it either, a predatory edge to his smile as he looks back at her. 

His eyes are dark as he takes in her shortened breaths, the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the pupils dilated until the golden ring of his iris is barely visible. 

“Come. There is a bed, _armatus_.” His voice is barely more than a whisper as he says it, offering his hand again.

She takes it, fingers intertwined with his as he leans in for another lingering kiss, before he draws back, leading her across the room. 

He waits for her to settle back into the sheets before he returns to her, mouth seeking hers as he presses her into the mattress. 

His weight sinks comfortably on top of her as she reaches for him, his hands everywhere, grasping, until all she can feel is him, his heat, the pressure of him between her thighs, and she wants - no _needs_ him closer, needs him with an ache that can’t be satisfied by anything else.

She wraps her legs around him, and he groans, shuddering, biting at her lips, and then-

\- she sees flashes of light, colours and shadows accompanied by feelings that aren't her own, impressions of creatures and places she doesn't recognise, and she breaks away with a gasp.

"What was that?" She asks, breathless as she looks up at him, and he laughs again, low and amused. She can feel it against her stomach, his hands warm now as they smooth over her skin, lifting her shirt from her body. 

She’s not wearing anything beneath it, and his gaze is hungry as he glances over her naked form.

"It is _võlakiri_."

She waits for him to translate but he doesn’t, leaning in to kiss her again, and again, coaxing until she melts into him, until she loses track of where she is, and the images start again.

It's overwhelming, the combination of pictures and emotion - and as he moves in closer, she almost buckles under a wave of sensation, of heat and warm skin and _lust_ \- and she understands, then, just what this is, what he’s sharing with her.

Her fingers scramble against his chest, clutching at soft fabric before he pulls away with a growl and drags the shirt over his head, revealing the smooth, pale expanse of his chest. 

She reaches for him, impatient to touch him - but he pulls back before her fingers can make contact, and his mouth is hot and vicious as he moves down her throat, marking the skin in a series of searing, biting kisses that make her gasp, fingers scrabbling for purchase in the sheets.

He’s unforgiving as he follows the path down, biting at her clavicle, soothing the ache with his tongue, before he turns his attention to her chest, teeth sharp against the curve of her breast as his nails trace along her ribcage. She can feel the heat of him above her, feel the way that he wants her, the emotions and sensations rising, cresting, until his hands and mouth slip lower, and she loses herself to the moment, to the pressure of his mouth between her thighs, his presence surrounding her, consuming her, until all she can think, breathe or feel is _him_. 

It’s dawn by the time she falls back into the sheets, exhausted. His chest is warm against her back, his arms curled possessively around her, and she feels - sated. Content in a way she hasn’t in a long time, not since the abrupt arrival of Unit Bravo in Wayhaven, when her gentle, peaceful existence had been utterly shattered. 

There will be consequences to this - but she’s willing to let them wait until the morning.

\--

She’s woken a short time later by the warm brush of his lips against her temple, a soft kiss pressed there.

" _Aitäh_ ," she hears him murmur against her hair, fingers cool as they comb through the strands, before he moves away.

She watches him leave, vision blurred as she follows the tall, pale line of him through the early morning light, flickering through the shadowy recesses of her apartment.

And then he's gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations: 
> 
> kurat - damn (exclamation)  
> Ma tahan sind - I want you  
> võlakiri - bond  
> armatus - love  
> Aitäh - thank you
> 
> **Check out the rest of the series for more continuations in this verse.**

**Author's Note:**

> Any kudos/comments greatly appreciated! Find more of my writing on tumblr (ejunkiet)!


End file.
